In December, tea-scented drifts of hot air would hint of new moon flowers unfolding, the thought of which would carry me into the comforting arms of deep sleep; then as midnight approached, and when the large petaled corollas of these haunting flowers were fully extended, I would be further drawn by their soporific scent into my curiously familiar dreams. The Luanshya night pollinated these plate-sized trumpet flowers with moths and bats. By morning these fragile beauties were limp afterthoughts of her post-midnight magic. Whereupon she would gently press the residues of their lily and orange perfume into her pre-dawn wrists in a mood of quiet acquiescence and spent nights. Her night reveries were forced to bow down before the heated arrogance of yet another day to come.
Allan Taylor, author Luanshya musings http://www.amzon.com/authors/allantaylor